


Baby, It's Somethin' In The Air, Somethin' On My Tongue

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also Jackson is a Douche, Awkward Walk-Ins, M/M, Spying, Title Could Use A Little Work, Why Come Out When You Can Just Let Everyone Figure It Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles never outright state their relationship status to the others.  They just sort of let everyone find out and draw whatever conclusions they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Somethin' In The Air, Somethin' On My Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time in the post-season-2 universe but is otherwise very vague.  
> I don't know why I do this to myself.

The first one to find out is Allison.  She’s on a mission to bring Derek up-to-date on the information her father’s got on the Alpha Pack—a nice little alliance has formed between the hunters and Hale’s pack and she’s become a sort of ambassador—and she just walks into the rebuilt Hale House without knocking.  It’s always how she’s done things (how everyone in the pack does things and Derek reluctantly admitted that Allison _is_ pack).  From upstairs, she hears a shriek and a thump and leaps into action.  Noiselessly, she takes the staircase two at a time.  She pauses at the landing, tilting her head and listening closely, before she hears a pained groan coming from Derek’s bedroom.  Wide-eyed, she bursts in and—

And Stiles is on the floor, chest naked and blanket tangled around his waist.  His face is scrunched and he’s rubbing the back of his head.  In the moment before Derek’s eyes fly to Allison, she sees him staring at him, concern and laughter etched on his face.  An actual _smile_.  It’s a good look for him.  But then it disappears when he looks up at her.  Stiles does a double-take and a blush creeps up his cheeks, bleeds into the tips of his ears.  He ducks his head and grins sheepishly, edging up onto the bed.

“H-hey, friendly neighborhood huntress,” he mumbles, embarrassed.  He jumps when Derek’s arm winds around his waist and tugs him back.

“Can we help you?” the Alpha asks, sitting up and tugging the sheet so it keeps him covered.

“I-I-I, um,” she stammers before closing her eyes and shaking her head.  “Dad wanted me to talk to you a-about the Alpha Pack but I’ll just… go, you two can…”  She trails off, flushing furiously.

Derek snorts lightly and presses a kiss to the back of Stiles’ head.  Then he levels Allison with a look, not a glare but something softer, like the anger’s been bled out of him (he looks relaxed, she realizes later).  “Go wait in the living room, I’ll be down in a minute,” he says.  “I’ve got information of my own for Chris.”

\---

Scott feels really, really bad for ditching Stiles so often for pack things and Allison things and only seeming to come around when he needed his best friend’s help.  So, to make it up to him, he’s decided to head over to the Stilinski house with arms full of junk food and sci-fi movies.  He knows his best bro hates being home alone and that the sheriff’s been working nights for weeks.  It’s a perfect plan.

Except… when Stiles opens the front door, he’s hit with this _smell_ that’s familiar but he can’t quite place it.  He frowns epically at his best friend, who raises his brows.  “Wassup, buddy?” he laughs, startled.

“It smells in here,” Scott mumbles, pushing past Stiles to drop everything on the coffee table and wrinkling his nose.  He knows this smell.

“Gee, thanks.  Have I mentioned how becoming a werewolf has done _wonders_ for your manners?” grumbles the other teen.  He plops down on the couch to rifle through the pile of chips, movies, and candy.  “What’s all this for?”

“It’s Wednesday, man,” he replies.  He stalks around the room, sniffing the air.  “We always have movie night on Wednesdays.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, dragging out the word.  “But it hasn’t been a regular thing since Beacon Hills became infested with supernatural beings.”  When Scott turns to face him, his eyes are narrowed.  “Did Allison send you?”

“What?” he demands incredulously.  “Why would she send me?”

Seeming satisfied, Stiles plucks up a bag of Doritos and sinks into the couch.  “Never mind.  Whaddya wanna watch?”

Scott puts in _Back to the Future_ because why not and flops down next to Stiles to dig a hand in his chips.  Before he even gets the snack into his mouth, he’s overwhelmed by that _smell_ again.  He’s practically _choking_ with it and he realizes what it is.  “Dude, why does your house smell like Derek?” he asks, looking disgusted.

Without missing a beat, Stiles laughs and responds, “Um, because Derek’s _been_ here.”  At his friend’s dubious look, he elaborates, “He comes over when Peter’s getting on his nerves or when Dad’s working all night.”  He shrugs lightly and pushes the chips into Scott’s hands.

“I thought you and Derek couldn’t stand each other!” he cries, flailing his arms a little.  “C’mon, man, solidarity!”

Stiles gives him that look he usually reserves for when Scott’s said something hopeless, kind of pitying and fond and sad.  “We’ve found some common ground.  We actually really like each other.”

Shooting to his feet so fast that he actually dumps the bag on the floor (and earning an outraged cry from Stiles), Scott hears himself demand, _“Are you and Derek having sex?”_

Again, that look.  Stiles sighs.  “Among other things,” he mutters.  After a minute, he glares up at him.  “Clean that up and watch the movie, dumbass.”

\---

“Are you _fucking kidding_ me, Stilinski?” Derek snarls, pinning Stiles to the side of the house.  Isaac, Boyd, and Erica stop dead.  They’re bruised and bloodied, though healing, and after tonight’s fight they just want to lick their wounds and _sleep_ , not deal with even more pack drama.  And their Alpha’s feelings bleed into them, they can feel his fury, his exhaustion, his—anguish?

Erica and Isaac exchange a look, confused and curious, but it’s Boyd who breathes, “We should go.”  When they ignore him, he rolls his eyes but makes no move to leave the scene.

And then it happens very quickly—Stiles shakes his head sharply and throws his arms around Derek’s waist (which shocks the others, it seems like he’s _asking_ for death now).  It’s awkward at first because the Alpha’s been using one arm across his collarbone to keep him pinned but he seems to crumble and pulls the teen to his chest.  They hear, faintly, over the sounds of two rapidly-beating hearts and two sets of uneven breathing, “I’m sorry, I wanted to help, I’m sorry, but I’m okay.”  They smell salt but by then Boyd’s got both Erica and Isaac by the backs of their shirts to pull them towards the house.

Suddenly, it’s too intimate for him, and he feels disrespectful for watching.  He doesn’t bother explaining that to the other two betas, who try to protest silently but are too scared of their Alpha to draw attention to themselves.

\---

To Lydia, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise.  Or as a surprise at all.  She walks into the kitchen one morning where Stiles and Derek are drinking coffee, looks at both of them, takes a deep breath, and says, “Finally.”

“Finally?” asks Stiles, trying for mild but betrayed by his pink cheeks.

“I’m not as dumb as the others,” she answers primly, taking his mug and sipping from it.  “I use my _nose._ ”  Derek looks impressed in spite of himself but Stiles only cocks his head to the side.  Rolling her eyes, she explains, “Look, you two _reek_ of each other.  Everything in this house smells like the two of you.  Everything at _your_ ,” a pointed look at the other teen, “House stinks of you two.  It’s not _Stiles_ smell and _Derek_ smell anymore.  It smells like StilesandDerek.  Which is both gross and heartwarming.”

There’s a pause.  And then Stiles asks, “Is this a pack thing?”

“It’s a mate thing, moron,” she quips before Derek can answer.

\---

“Dude, it’s cool, of course you can come, you’re _pack_ now,” Jackson coaxes, elbowing Danny.  He’s basically the only one other than Lydia that Jackson’s nice to and it’s really all because of him that Danny’s considered pack-adjacent (which is what he insists on calling it—he’s not Stiles are Allison, he’s not been here since the beginning and he’s just _not_ pack, no matter what his best friend says).  “Anyway, it’s just movie night.  Pack bonding and all that shit.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Danny half-teases.

The other teen growls and shoves at him before opening the front door.  They’re early, but Derek’s never minded before.  Danny goes off to the living room to flip through the channels until everyone else gets there but Jackson goes to the kitchen to raid the fridge.  But it’s not Derek who’s in there, which he half-expected, but Stiles.  Stiles in basketball shorts and no shirt.  And it’s weird.  The two boys stare at each other over the island for a good minute before Stiles crosses his arms over his chest awkwardly and shifts from foot to foot, mumbling, “I should find a shirt.”

He brushes past the werewolf but before he turns into another room, Jackson calls out, “Hey!  Is that a hickey on the back of your neck?”

Stiles ducks his head and slaps a hand to the back of his neck, covering the purple bruise there and practically runs into the living room.  “H- _hi_ , Danny,” he gasps, squirming on the spot.  Danny’s more observant than Jackson.  He sees Stiles’ swollen lips, faint red marks on his shoulders, and stubble burn on his neck.  He’s also much _nicer_ than his friend so he doesn’t comment on it, just waves lightly.  “Is my—“ his voice cracks and he clears his throat.  “Is my shirt under you?”

Raising his eyebrows, the other teen stands and in a flash Stiles dives in to grab the shirt.  He mumbles a thank you and tugs it on awkwardly.  The two of them sit in silence on opposite ends of the couch and for a few minutes there’s heavy silence.  For as long as Danny’s known him, he’s never known Stiles to be silent for more than a minute or so.  Even when his mother died, the kid tended to ramble on and on.  Anything other than that seems… unnatural.  “So, you and Derek?” he asks, at a loss.

“Yeah,” the other murmurs, chewing his lip.

“Good.”  At Stiles’ confused look, Danny clarifies, “Maybe he’ll lighten up.”  The comment earns him a shaky laugh and, from upstairs, a loud growl.

\---

Sometimes, Stiles brings them dinner.  It’s on days like that when Peter’s really grateful for the kid’s existence because he and Derek are many things with many talents but they are not equipped to make really good food.  (That’s not entirely true.  He knows for a fact that Derek can cook but rarely does because he figures he could be spending his time doing something more “useful,” whatever that means.)  Tonight, it’s meatloaf and steamed vegetables and homemade wheat bread dear _God_ he’s adopting that kid and putting him to work in his kitchen.  He can hear two heartbeats in the living room—and the TV’s on, which is a good indicator that someone’s in the house because God knows _Derek_ doesn’t watch it when no one’s around.  He piles the still-warm food onto a plate, butters a slab of the bread, and makes his way into the other room.

He shovels a bite of meatloaf into his mouth as he goes and says, “Kid, how do you get this meatloaf to stay so moist, what kind of witchcraft is—“

Pausing mid-sentence, he studies the scene before him impassively.  Derek is stretched out across the length of the couch, one leg dangling over the arm and the other over the side with his foot planted on the floor.  His head rests in Stiles’ lap where the teen’s fingers work at his scalp absently.  The kid tilts his head to look at Peter in the doorway but his hands stay where they are.  The older man’s pretty sure he can hear the Alpha _purring._   He smirks and says, “You know what, never mind.  I’ll ask you later.”  Turning on his heel, he makes a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

“’Bout damn time,” he mumbles, sitting at the table.

\---

It’s not like he set out that morning with the intent of snooping on his son.  In fact, if Stiles’ phone hadn’t been on the counter, what exactly the kid had been up to for the past few weeks probably wouldn’t have crossed his mind.  After all, he’s _tired._   He’s been working doubles for three weeks straight.  He certainly hasn’t been getting the rest he needs and he’s surely been eating food his son would have a _fit_ over.  So on this, his first day off in a long time, he sort of had other things on his mind.  But the phone attracted his attention while he made his coffee, chirping happily ever couple of seconds.  The little green light on the top corner of the screen had been blinking.  Cringing, he picked up the phone gingerly and unlocked it and found that he had four texts from Scott, two from Lydia, another two from Derek, and fourteen missed calls.  If Scott’s sending him so many texts—and at least ten of those missed calls were from him—the Sheriff rationalizes, he’d better make sure there’s not something wrong.

_Scott 09:08 AM_ _dude wre r u_

_Scott 09:17 AM_ _i swear 2 god if u r at dereks agin_

_Scott 09:32 AM_ _answr ur phone!!! >:[_

_Scott 09:34 AM_ _im gna call derek if u dnt call me_

Cocking a brow, the man paused, thumb poised over Lydia’s name to see what exactly she wanted.

_Lydia 09:20 AM_ _hey moron did you leave your phone at home again? scott won’t leave me alone. he is so annoying._

_Lydia 09:24 AM_ _this actually isn’t funny at all and you better hope you left your phone at home because if not not even your super scary boyfriend can save you <3_

The sheriff mouths the words “super scary boyfriend” before going to the messages from Derek.  (He can’t imagine why Derek Hale would be texting his son or why Scott would think Stiles is spending so much time with him.  It’s rather disconcerting.)

_Derek 08:45 AM_ _Don’t forget your phone. You know how Scott gets._

_Derek 08:50 AM_ _You forgot your phone, didn’t you?_

Now both of the man’s brows shoot up and he looks around as if someone could have walked in without him knowing it.  He scrolls to the oldest message he can find.  It’s one from Stiles to Derek.

_SENT Jun 04 11:58 PM_ _I cant sleep. Miss u. Bruises hurt._

_Derek Jun 04 11:59 PM_ _Sleep. I’ll check on you in the morning._

_SENT Jun 04 11:59 PM_ _No u cant just use ur freaky alpha commands at me and expect me to do what u say!_

_SENT Jun 05 12:00 AM_ _I am a strong independent woman and I dont need no man._

_Derek Jun 05 12:00 AM_ _Stiles, shut up._

_SENT Jun 05 12:01 AM_ _Make me._

_Derek Jun 05 12:02 AM_ _What would you do if I just stopped replying to your inane late-night texts?_

_SENT Jun 05 12:02 AM_ _First of all u would never do that u love me too much_

_SENT Jun 05 12:04 AM_ _Ok not funny_

_SENT Jun 05 12:07 AM_ _Derek this is not cute u txt me back RIGHT NOW or I will climb out this window and come find u I swear to god_

_Derek Jun 05 12:08 AM_ _I will call your father._

_SENT Jun 05 12:08 AM_ _I hate u_

_Derek Jun 05 12:09 AM_ _Love you, too. Get some rest, see you in the morning. I’ll bring breakfast._

_SENT Jun 05 10:34 AM_ _Oh my GOD I smell syrup did u bring me pancakes ugh best werewolf boyfriend ever_

There are a lot of parents who would have faulted Sheriff Stilinski had he chosen to continue reading the highly incriminating transcript.  A lot of parents would salivate for such a chance.  But there’s guilt burning in his stomach and a sudden urge not to know what exactly his son does with the mysterious Hale boy, so he sets the phone back down, but not before writing down Derek’s phone number.  After a few minutes, pinching the bridge of his nose, he dialed the number in his own cell and hit _send._

“Hello?”

“Derek, Sheriff Stilinski.”

There’s a pause, and all the background noise shuts off abruptly.  He thinks he hears Derek swallow.  “Yes, sir.”

“Is my son there?” he asks, voice steady.

“Yes, sir.”

It’s his turn to be quiet for a beat too long.  “Come to dinner tonight.  And let Stiles know… all three of us need to have a talk,” he orders.  He expects a lot of things.  He doesn’t expect Derek to sound so relieved when he asks what time to be there.  “Six.  And just so you know, it’s fried chicken.  Let my son know so he doesn’t have a fit.”

**Author's Note:**

> God, this ship gives me feels.  
> Also, I don't know why I always make Danny pack. Danny is my favourite thing, though.
> 
> Y'all should let me know if you find anything that reads awkwardly/is problematic. I don't pay attention to half the things I type.


End file.
